


The Great Rumble Downtown

by Ricky B (littletoes101)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: M/M, and death, and things blowing up, has multiple authors, lots of action
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletoes101/pseuds/Ricky%20B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Something like this can turn killers into lovers, sinners into saints, mobsters into cops.” At the peak of the 1950’s, Fermet has returned to his old stomping grounds and stirs up trouble. Working with Nebula and the Runoratas, they create an artificial Szilard who is determined to wreak havoc. Meanwhile, the many factions of immortals, new and old, form The Immortal Treaty of 1955, in order to efficiently take on their enemies. Despite telling himself that he won’t create new allies, after Luck is saved from being devoured by an enemy by none other than Dallas, Luck finds himself torn out of his emotionless shell and thrust into a world where secrets get you killed and treaties are worth more than blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spinning In Circles, With the Moon In our Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> [Chapter title from Into the Night by Santana]

Freezing asphalt under his feet, and uncomfortably hot night air around him, Luck Gandor paused at the corner of two streets. An alley cat skittered in front of him, twitching pricked ears, before disappearing behind a pair of trashcans. Body just as low and lean as the fleeing creature, Luck carefully pricked his way down a shady-looking street. Most of the buildings were in various state of ruin, and the rest of the street wasn't in any better of a condition. Curling his lip, the mobster continued walking until he came to the building he was looking for, squeezing through the cracked and crumbling walls.

Pale silver moonlight illuminated the other immortals who had already gathered here: Claire Stanfield, bright red hair shimmering in the light; Firo Prochainezo and Ennis, pressed close together as they always were; Huey Laforet, thin and wiry as a fox; Ladd Russo, eyes blue as ice narrowed in Claire's direction with the dim light reflecting off of his prosthetic arm; Graham Spector, body trembling with nervous spasms of excitement at Ladd's side; Dallas Genoard, shoulders slumped and head low like a juvenile cougar; and Maiza Avaro, managing to look calm despite the tense atmosphere.

Slinking over to take his place between Claire and Firo, Luck positioned himself on a piece of broken cement as Maiza leapt onto a pile of bricks and debris. He cleared his throat, and the eight immortals, including Luck, turned their heads up to look at him. Although there were unresolved tensions between some of the people sitting there, all of them held a certain amount of respect for Maiza, and this was important. Maiza wouldn't have called for them all to gather if whatever he was going to tell them wasn't serious.

“As you all know, this is an extremely important matter,” Maiza began to explain, his tall, intimidating form swathed in ribbons of silver pooling in from the broken roof. “An extremely dangerous immortal has returned to New York, and I believe that he's been involved in the resurrection of another extremely dangerous immortal.” He paused, scanning the others' faces for any signs of emotion. “Lebreau Fermet Viralesque is in this city.” Huey tensed visibly, and Luck could almost see his hair standing on edge. “And Szilard Quates has returned with him.”

“ _ What? _ ” Hissed Firo, quick to jump to his feet. “But—the memories, I remember—I killed 'im! We all saw it, well, some of us,” he added quickly. Ennis began to shiver, terror crossing her countenance, the full moon reflecting in her wide eyes. “How the hell is he back?”

“Fermet must have something to do with it,” Maiza answered. “He's supposedly been devoured three times, once by Szilard himself. However he's back, Fermet must be responsible.”

“Why don't we just get rid a' the guy for real then?” Ladd huffed like his time was being wasted, cracking the knuckles on his right hand with his left. Claire brushed his bangs out from his gleaming brown-hazel eyes, rolling them as he did.

“It ain't gonna be that easy,” he retorted. “Obviously, if this guy was smart enough to somehow come back to life three times  _ and _ bring the old man back, we ain't dealin' with an amateur.”

Nodding in response, Maiza's expression grew grim. Luck was listening with piqued interest, his entire being focused on what the eldest immortal had to say. “Claire's right, I'm afraid. Not to mention, I have evidence from Sylvie which suggests he and Szilard are working with Nebula and the Runoratas.”

“Nebula, as in, the Mist Wall Nebula?” Huey finally spoke, voice as quiet as ever, but rising above the murmurs of the others. “Led by Manifred Barium?”

Again, Maiza nodded. “Yes. Bartolo Runorata, although he is assuredly very ill, is definitely a key player in this game. If he were to get his hands on any of us, there'd be hell to pay.” Looking in Dallas's direction, Maiza addressed him, “You should know this fairly well.” Bristling, then relaxing, Dallas shifted uncomfortably in response. “Which is why I propose that we create a treaty.”

“A treaty?” Graham cocked his head. “But what will a treaty really do for us? We can  _ agree _ to a little paper all we want, but unless the words are actually enforced, they're just wasted words. And there's nothing more I  _ hate _ than wasted words.” He began to fidget, looking like he wanted to jump about and pace, but Ladd kept him pinned down to his spot with his prosthetic. Despite his inability to move, he continued to speak. “Why would we all want to work together anyway? In case you haven't noticed, we're not all  _ best buddies _ .” Graham curled his lip, spitting the words out laced with poison as his Siamese blue eyes glared at Claire, who paid him no heed.

“Which one would you rather have to do; work with someone you dislike, or be the guinea pig of at least three people for the rest of your life, locked up like a rat in a testing facility?” Maiza retorted. His words were harsh, but true, and Graham gave a few frustrated wiggles. “That's what I thought.” Straightening, Maiza jumped from his perch, landing heavily and stumbling forward a bit on his feet, before he steadied himself. “Huey, I assume you can agree for your daughters and homunculi in this case?” The Frenchman nodded, his eyes clouded with an emotion Luck couldn't read. “Jacuzzi relinquished decision-making to you, Dallas, I already know that. And Ladd, you can speak for the rest of Graham's gang, Ricardo, and his associates, yes?”

The blonde shrugged muscular shoulders in response. “I guess. The kid didn't say no, but he's weird. Probably won't wanna get involved, anyway.”

“I doubt that,” Huey murmured. “Liza fancies him. She follows my orders to the letter, but I don't doubt she'll want to get him involved in some way.” At the sound of Liza fancying his nephew, Ladd gave a sour look, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Dismissing their sidebar, Maiza continued. “I know Firo and I speak for the Martillos, and Czeslaw has agreed to help. Luck, the Gandors will follow your command, correct?” Luck nodded soundlessly. His brothers knew of this meeting, knew of its intentions. Berga was eager for bloodshed, but Keith had looked worried when Luck had explained it to him. Honestly, he couldn't blame him for being weary; they could very well lose their lives for good this time. “Alright. Are we all in agreement?”

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Firo sniggered, and though Maiza shot him a glare, no comments were made.

Thus, under the full moon in summer, 1955, The Immortal Treaty of 1955 became the red string of fate that would bind all of the factions of immortals together in a dangerous dance of death.


	2. Did I Fall Asleep? Is This All A Dream?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Time of Dying” by Three Days Grace

_No, no, it couldn’t end like this. Luck knew that. There was so much more to live for, to fight for, to see, to do. But his fate seemed imminent. The other immortal- faceless, dark- stood before him, towering over him in a way that exuded nothing more than pure evil and malice. A hand reached out- a right hand._

_Right, Luck thought as he remembered. He was going to be eaten. No, not eaten. Devoured. That’s what it was called. Place your right hand on the head of another immortal, think “I want to eat,” and then their very essence would be absorbed into you. Simple. Easy. Would it be painless? He would find out soon enough, he knew._

_Time was moving too slowly as the hand reached towards him. He tried to scream, move, fight back, anything. But his body wouldn’t do as he wanted._

_This was it. This was death and it was scary and oh what about his brothers and what about everyone and what happens after you die?_

_His eyes shot open when the hand never reached his head and the air filled with a low growl. There was a cougar between him and the figure, standing as though it was a mother protecting its cubs. The Mafioso opened his mouth to ask who it was- what a silly thought, once he thought of it- but then-_

"Ow, dammit!" he yelled as he rubbed his head. The blankets were strewn all around him where he had fallen off his bed, taking them down with him. _What an odd dream,_ he thought numbly as he began to sluggishly get ready for the day. Something about that dream made him uneasy and filled him with a sense of foreboding. Maybe someone else would have some sort of insight.

-

It had been hardly a week since news came about of Lebreau Fermet Viralesque’s return, and already everyone had made plans to prepare. Everyone had been split into four groups in a rather convenient way- The Gandors, the gang of delinquents, the Martillo Family, and the Genoards. Each had an area to look after and monitor for any suspicious activity. Luckily nothing had happened yet. Perhaps the enemy was waiting for a chance to strike. That thought kept them all on edge. Luck sat down next to his two brothers, the two people he knew he could trust no matter what in light of everything. “Hello,” he said quietly. They nodded their hellos. It seemed that even Berga, as social as he normally was, was affected by the growing sense of dread in the room.

"I had a weird dream last night," he said after a moment of silence.

"What about?" Berga asked. Keith looked over at his youngest brother, interested as well.

Luck looked down as he recalled the imaginary events of the night before. “There was an immortal. They had no face, no nothing. They were just there. They… They were going to devour me, but I was saved by a cougar. It jumped in front of me and was going to fight off the immortal- except I fell out of bed and woke up.” It sounded like a stupid dream once he said it out loud, but he needed to get that out there.

His brothers said nothing and instead pondered what it could mean in silence with him.

That was when a voice reached his ears: The one person seemingly unaffected by the dread. Dallas Genoard. He voice carried through the room. He was talking about some animal he had rescued while visiting the Rockies. She had been only a cub. Named her Stellaluna. Nothing interesting, until, “Yeah, she’s a beautiful cougar.” Luck’s attention shot across the room. There was no way… Could it be? He refrained from voicing his thoughts aloud, instead falling into a pensive silence.

-

The Nebula headquarters were relatively silent. Even the scientists running back and forth doing their daily work ran as though their steps were padded. The halls were pristine, everything was clean. It was the perfect environment for evil to form.

Two men sat in what was similar to a waiting room. A couple comfortable chairs, a radio, a table, some magazines. The two men paid no attention to any of that, though. There was no conversation, no exchanges of pleasantries. They were Bartolo Runorata and Senator Manifred Barium. They were waiting for someone to discuss big plans for the future- plans that could change the course of history. Before the silence got too awkward and tedious, two men walked in through the door. One had long dark brown hair with bangs that covered his face- Lebreau Fermet Viralesque. The other was an older, heavier-set male, one everyone knew to be dead, devoured by a young camorrista named Firo. This man was Szilard Quates.

"Hello, gentlemen," Fermet said in a pleasant tone. His voice was kind, but there was no inkling of kindness on his visible features. "Senator Barium, Mr. Runorata. This is Szilard 2.0, as I call him. A wonderful creation, as a matter of fact."

The two men stared blankly, rather perplexed. “You are sure this plan will work?” Barium asked.

Fermet nodded gravely. “This version of Szilard has the same memories as the original, except with even more power. Trust me, there’s no way we can fail.” A slight smile graced his lips, but no one could see if it reached his covered eyes or not. “This plan was no fault.”

"Good, because I don’t know how much longer this stomach cancer will hold off," Bartolo said dryly. "I need to get my hands on that elixir or I’m done for." He was reaching the point of desperation. The stomach cancer he had was rare, slowly eating away at his life. There was nothing the doctors could do. That was when Manifred Barium had a conversation with him about immortality. He promised that the elixir of immortality would save him, and Bartolo hung onto that promise like it was the last rope holding his life together.

Barium voiced that promise once more. “Don’t worry, Bartolo. Once we capture Huey Laforet, I’ll make sure you get some of the elixir.

"I’ll make sure all of our plans succeed."

-

Wood carvings littered the floor, more flittering down through the air to join the small pile. They were falling from a cougar figurine being carved out of wood. It was typically an enjoyable pastime, but Keith’s face was grave. The general sense of foreboding filled the air- the general sense of death. The feeling had been haunting him since the beginning of all of this, and it worried him. Men do rash things when desperate, that he knew. That was what bothered him more than anything.

-

The screams filled the air, sweet screams. The man was being torn apart, cut open, his blood running down his body as he was meticulously cut at with a knife. The camorrista could only scream and cry and damn the monster doing this to him as the barrage of cuts and slices and wounds wouldn’t stop. His vision darkened, slowly faded until there was nothing…

Fermet frowned. “Well, he didn’t last long. No matter,” he said without a hint of amusement or disappointment as he proceeded to carefully disembowel the man. He worked mechanically, as though it was something he was used to. This was only the beginning of his plan. It would start with one body, a nobody working for them who would be found on their territory. Then it would slowly escalate until it was some of their own, someone they cared for. There were so many victims to chose from.

The body was left lying in plain sight in an alley, blood soaked and torn apart. The man’s organs were displayed grotesquely all around him and his body was hardly recognizable as human. Of course, no one would find the poor dead man until the morning light broke over the horizon of New York City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This chapter written by sydopolis]


	3. Progress Update

**From Eli;**

So sorry for the lack of an update for so long! I've been busy on school and my own original works. I hope to have the next chapter up by next week. Thank you all who have read and left kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> This work has two authors, the other author being tumblr user sydopolis who does not currently have an Ao3 account. If they decide to get one they will be listed as the co-author for this fic. This chapter was written by myself, King Eli.


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